Today I will be writing about not having anything to write about.
When I first started blogging I pretty much just wrote about whatever. Homework assignments, fires, weekends, whatever. It didn't really matter what I wrote about because all I really cared about was writing something every week. As time has passed I feel like I care slightly more about what I write about. Either that or I do way less with my life. Maybe it's both.
The inspiration for my posts is usually pretty random. I rarely plan things out. Sometimes I get an OK idea for a post and then I think about it for a bit then move on to something else. Then I think about it some more and I usually talk myself out of it. It's dumb or it's too personal or too depressing. Basically I usually overthink everything and then decide not to post anything (this is happening to the depressing sonnet).
Many posts I've made have been written at 1 or 2 am after telling myself for the last two weeks that I need to write something. Mild delirium from staying up late, hot chocolate, and the warm glow of my computer screen, quietly typing away about nothing of significance. Finishing up a post, proofreading it quickly (I rarely proofread things in high school), hitting the publish button, and then passing out without a second thought about what I just wrote. I think it's for the best.
I could have written about starting coop again or something shitty about listening to music while walking around. Pretending your life has a soundtrack, walking around to the beat of the music. Taping your foot on the subway. The strange silence of the world around while hearing something completely different. But I didn't really have much more to say about it.
So I wrote this.
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